I am vain, but I am also self destructive, so that kinda evens out. Recently my life has gone from a woman saying to me; “I’m going to sand down your chest” to three women having an argument over what to do with my head, to a few hours later when I am telling a reporter that “I guess that would make me the Hitler of novelists” and ending the day with 14 bruises within a handbreadth (for the epee fencing & bruise story, see tommorrow’s blog)
A couple days ago I had to wear a holter heart unit (spelled houlter in Canada). This records all the heart related stuff for the 24 hours you wear it through the five electrodes permanently stuck to your body. This is why I ended up early in the morning, in my bra, leaning toward a female technician who is coming toward me with sandpaper in her hand telling me she's going to "sand down my chest." Turns out that’s not a joke (still qualifies as the kinkiest thing anyone ever said to me that they followed through on). Two of those electrodes are right under your collarbone, meaning that cool tank top now shows a bunch of wires and electrodes and gets you attention from old men on the bus; “You have something stuck to you…”
“I’m mainlining, leave it alone!”
Next day I am up even earlier to see same female technician whose only comment is “I’d grit my teeth” before starting to rip off the electrodes. That’s her job, sanding down people and ripping off glued electrodes, eight hours a day. I love this country.
Friday I got my hair dyed. Last time I dyed my hair blue at a salon which managed to fry my roots. This meant that when I pulled a brush though my hair, a chunk of 15-25 hairs ripped out of my head (blue colored hair). Basicially I paid $140 to have my hair fall out (but look cool). This time I wanted the cool without the chunks of hair on my pillow so I went to a training school. The two supervising teachers had different philosophies (one reminded me of Mr. Ho, particularly when she rubbed my hair with her fingers and said, “Ugly, so ugly”) which resulted in the teachers arguing over my head as the student looked between them in bewilderment. I wanted to dye my whole head from light brown to red (came out mahogany), with big deep purple streaks (came out magenta) and blonde highlights(which came out...blonde). This took just over five hours but I left there feeling good, so good that when a guy made a howling noise out the window of his car at me, I took it as positive affirmation (getting your hair done can be a lot like drinking – it puts you in an altered mental state).
I just made it to the apartment in time for the Victoria & Saanich News interview and photo shoot regarding my novel Zed. They called a few days before and wanted an interview and photos of “the writer’s workspace.” Since my “workspace” is usually a clutter of paper notes, boxes, about 20-40 books half open or stacked on each other and wrappers of the last two weeks of food and snacks, that meant two days of intensive cleaning. In the end the photo was like all author photos; standing in front of my bookcases. I did remember to take out the explicit gay picture/sex books but left my books on eugenics and poisoning. The reporter had a nice tattoo but he had not read the novel and asked me questions like “What themes are there?” This is like asking a physicist, “Can you tell me about energy?” I did okay until we got onto the subject of what I want from a book when I started saying, “I want to make a book that changes the way people see everything.”
“The world?” he asked.
“Themselves, the world, everything. I want to write a book that permanently alters people’s minds simply by reading it.” Realizing how megalomaniacal that sounds I try to recover; “I guess that makes me the Hitler of novel writers.” Not good. I follow this up with comments about Victoria and how “The first time I went to Oak Bay I wanted to smash all the windows” (the newspaper he writes for is syndicated in Oak Bay) and direct comparisons between heroin addicts and local politicians. And yes, he was recording the interview. The article comes out on Wednesday in the Regional section which will go to all of lower Vancouver Island.
Okay, now that I have alienated my town and immediate reading public, back to what is important: my hair. Based on the known fact that your hair never again looks as good as when you leave the salon I immediately rushed outside to take pictures: a new user photo for the blog, and my “little bit dirty” shot for the 6’3” Women of Epee 2007 Calendar and the photo’s Linda took for the flickr slideshow below. I recommend setting time per slide to 1 second. It shows me turning around, getting distracted by my own breasts, thinking of Curly McDimple’s poem: An Ode to My Itty Bitty Titties which starts “My titties are perky and really quite small. They are as wee as the rest of me’s tall.” I regained concentration in the end; it was a good hair day.
12 hours ago